


What's Going On With The Ducks

by sweetasscas



Series: TFW Bingo [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetasscas/pseuds/sweetasscas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean makes a friend; Cas has a minor breakdown</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Going On With The Ducks

**Author's Note:**

> [TFW Bingo Prompt](http://teamfreewillbingo.tumblr.com/): AU: School Teacher

“Can anyone think of any other significant metaphors? Holden’s red cap, perhaps? No?” The young professor paused at the front of the lecture hall, hoping someone would speak up. His students stared at their phones, or their notebooks, or off into space.

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Reminder that essays are due in one week, no excuses. If you have any questions, my office hours are listed in your syllabus.” He yelled the last sentence above the din of his class standing and gathering their things to leave. No one noticed the exasperated sigh as he shoved his lecture notes into his bag.

“His use of the word ‘phony’.” A deep voice called from the back of the room.

Dean looked up and smiled. The man stood and made his way down to the lectern where Dean waited. “Cas Novak,” he said and held out his hand.

“Dean Winchester. You’re not a student.”

The man laughed. “No, not for a long time. Sorry to crash your lecture. _Catcher_ is one of my favorites.”

“You just stop in random classes?”

Cas ducked his head and chuckled. “No. My history lecture is in this hall. I left some notes in the desk and came to retrieve them. I didn’t know the hall would be occupied at this hour.”

Dean motioned to the simple wooden desk that stood to the left of the lectern.

“What, uh, what history class do you teach?” Dean asked while Cas bent over the desk drawers and rifled through the long forgotten notes of past professors.

“All of them.” He stood, a stack of notes cradled in his arm. “History 101 and 102 mostly, but every once in a while they let me teach Russian history or etymology.” He found the notes he was looking for and returned the rest of the stack to the drawer.

“What about you? Literature, I’m assuming.”

Dean hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. “For now, yeah. English lit and a few comp classes.”

“How long have you been with the university?” Cas led the way to the side door, and they pushed out into the bright sun that filtered through the trees of the quad.

“This is my second semester. I’m hoping after I’ve been here a while they’ll let me sink my teeth into something meatier than metaphors and comma splices. What about you?”

“Five years and counting. I thought after I completed my PhD that I would move on, but… I like it here.” They stopped at a coffee cart and grabbed a cup before moving to one of the many concrete benches that lined the area.

“You mentioned etymology.” Dean set his bag aside and turned to face Cas as best he could.

“I did,” Cas nodded.

“I’d love to sit in on a lecture or two. It’s always fascinated me, but I could never fit it into my schedule.”

“The university offers both Master’s and Doctorate level courses next semester.”

“Which one do you teach?”

“Both. I believe I am the only etymology professor in the state of Kansas.”

“Then it’s lucky we met.”

Cas smiled behind his coffee cup. “Yes.”

“Would you mind if I audited a few lectures? I honestly don’t know if I’m ready to go for my PhD.”

“Of course. You’re welcome anytime.” Cas rifled through his pockets for a business card.

“Or, you know, we could discuss it over dinner? Saturday?”

Cas glanced up and caught Dean’s eager expression. He handed over the card with his cell number scrawled on the back. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Harvelle’s on 9th, 8 o’clock?” Cas smiled at the way Dean’s eyes lit up.

“Sure.” Dean took the card like it was a treasured object.

“See you then, Dean.” Cas stood and offered his hand.

“Yeah, Cas. See you.” It took a moment for reality to click before he stood and shook Cas’s hand. Before he knew what happened, Cas was crossing the quad and Dean was staring at his hand like it might suddenly burst into flames.

~*~

He heard a smattering of laughter as he opened the door to the lecture hall. He had been certain the hall would be empty that time of day. He edged in and took a seat on the back row.

“No, but that’s a very important question. What’s going on with the ducks? Why does Holden care so much about them? More importantly, why does he want us to care about them?” The young professor never stopped moving. He paced across the front of the hall, moving from one student to the next as hands went up or opinions were offered.

Cas soon noticed that it was only a handful of students that offered any insight or asked any questions, out of the hundred or so that packed the hall. He could see the professor’s frustration, knew the leading questions for what they were - an attempt to get more of them engaged. Maybe that’s why he paced, why he never stood still. Cas knew that frustration, lived it in almost every class.

“Can anyone think of any other significant metaphors? Holden’s red cap, perhaps? No?” Cas watched him sigh and waited for the room to clear before standing and answering.

…

“You, on a date?” He cradled the phone against his shoulder while he sifted through essays.

“Yes, Anna. A date. Something single men do on occasion.”

“Yeah. When’s the last time you went on a date?”

Cas ignored her question and frowned at the stack of papers in front of him.

“That’s what I thought. So you will excuse me if I’m a bit shocked.”

“Are you done? Or was there something else you needed to ridicule me about.”

“Don’t be like that, Cassie. You know I’m just teasing. When are you going out? Who is she? How did you meet?”

“Tomorrow evening. _He_ is Dean Winchester, an English professor at the university. We met on campus.”

“Come on, Cas. Give me the details.”

“What details? He’s tall, handsome, and well-spoken.” _Green eyes, tanned skin, toned muscle, freckles that he could spend days counting…_

“He sounds boring. Fine. Go have your boring date with your boring professor. I hope you’re very bored together.”

“Goodnight, Anna.”

“Goodbye, Castiel.”

He set the phone on the table and started reading the first essay. He was not going to overthink this. He refused. Because if he overthought it he would get nervous, and if he got nervous he would consider cancelling, and he couldn’t cancel because he didn’t have Dean’s number, so he would have to cancel face-to-face, and if he was going to do that, go to all the trouble of getting ready and going down to the restaurant, he might as well go on the date. So overthinking was fairly useless.

He couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes, and the small smile that played on his lips while he watched his students discuss the book. He was proud of them, that handful of students who participated, who tried. He never dismissed an opinion or made fun of a question, though he teased and joked and made them laugh.

Cas set the paper back on the stack with a frustrated sigh. He couldn’t concentrate. The essays would have to wait.

By the next afternoon he was in full panic mode. None of his clothes were right. Everything was either too stiff and formal or too casual. He kept playing their conversation over and over in his head, convincing himself that Dean wasn’t as interested as he seemed, despite asking him out before Cas got the chance. Cas had been so nervous he nearly sprinted across the quad, and ended up being five minutes late to his next lecture because he was so lost in thought he actually got lost in a part of the campus he’d never been to before.

He pulled into the Harvelle’s parking lot with twenty minutes to spare. He couldn’t decide if he should go in and wait or hide in his car. He was convincing himself not to go back home when a long black muscle car rumbled into the lot and parked in the front like it belonged there. The engine shut off but no one got out, and Cas let his curiosity get the better of him. He had to know who brought that kind of car to that part of town at that time of night and expected it to be intact when they returned. He slid out of his car and moved to where he could see the driver. Before he could stop himself he was tapping on the driver’s window.

**Author's Note:**

> [part 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4074667)


End file.
